Now he was smiling a little. And Persis guessed that his estimate of her intelligence was just what she feared. Which added a pinch of fuel to that deep-down opposition he had the power to stir within her.
“Yes—it is very different from New York,” he sounded mocking. “And did you so greatly fancy New York, Persis?”
She thought back. The solid safety of life there—it had been solidly safe under Uncle Augustin’s roof. But also—very dull. She certainly could not say the same of Lost Lady Key.
“I knew nothing else, sir,” she fell back on young lady manners, “until I came here.”
“And you will return to New York?” he persisted, why she could not guess. What did her future mean to him, after she was able to get away from his involuntary hospitality?
“I can tell nothing about that. Not until I learn what is to be done about the inheritance in the islands—”
“Yes,” he nodded, “the inheritance in the islands. The news you got from Grillon. Just what in particular did he have to warn you about?”
Persis hesitated. She had wanted so much to turn to someone for advice. Molly—Shubal—both were loyal and they would follow where she led. They would not make suggestions. There was this, however, if Captain Leverett knew the whole tale he might be willing to somehow aid in her departure. She had been brought up in Uncle Augustin’s way of silence concerning family matters, and now she could not quite understand what pushed her toward making a full story of her dilemma here and now.
“There is another heir, a new one,” she cut her explanation short. “Captain Grillon knows of this and told me. My cousin—long known to be dead—left a child no one knew about—”
“Until,” Crewe Leverett cut in, “there was a sizable estate to be settled, is that it? And you accept this story, Persis? Does it not seem a bit odd that such an heir comes into the open only after those most concerned are dead?”
She studied him suspiciously, half-convinced that he was indeed mocking her inexperience. Though there was no sign of that in his expression.
“I would not,” he continued after a moment, “accept Ralph Grillon’s word on any subject. You told me he tried to bargain with you. There is no reason to believe that this heir exists anywhere—except perhaps in his own imagination. He is—”
“Your enemy,” she cut in, seething that he took her to be so stupid. “I know that. And I would take no one’s word until it is all investigated. I am not,” she arose, “such a ninny as you seem to think I am, Captain Leverett.”
That half smile did not leave him. “So you read thoughts, too, Persis Rooke? Now that is interesting. But I fear you take your powers far too much for granted. I am merely warning you that it is best to make your own decisions on hard evidence and not on the word of a man who bears none too good a reputation. Come, now, you can’t think as hardly of me as you look just now. I do have some virtues along with the usual complement of vices.”
Persis hesitated. She could not read any mockery into that no matter how hard she tried. And, oddly enough she resented the fact that he seemed able to disarm her just when she thought her defenses so well organized. Now she seized wildly on a change of subject of her own, wanting to get away from that which touched her personally in a way she could not understand and did not want to.
“Captain Leverett, you asked how I liked Lost Lady. Lydia has told me some of its history—it sounds very dark and cruel.”
“I suppose every piece of land has its own ghosts,” he accepted her switch. “Perhaps this holds more than most. Askra’s people had a city here once. Their great temple was on the mound supporting this house. Then they were hunted by the Spanish and the Seminoles turned loose to clear them from the land. And the Spanish rule was harsh in turn, being overwhelmed by a pirate attack about a hundred years ago. Has Lydia showed you the opal-eyed fan? That is a relic of the past with a very queer story—a dead pirate captain and a captive Spanish lady who disappeared.
“The Spanish came to rule once more—and then once more an Indian uprising. Finally, we came. But the sea is the last conqueror, you know. It threatens—” He moved a little on the pillows as if his shoulder hurt him.
Without thinking Persis went to the bed and settled the pile supporting him more firmly.
“You’ve a light hand,” his face was now so close to hers that the deep blue of his eyes were like pools of the sea. A person, she thought, could be drawn into such pools. The oddity of that idea made her flush and retreat hastily. Somehow, though she had learned her deftness caring for Uncle Augustin, this was not at all like that. And she drew back to the end of the big bed as if she had fled from some danger she could not understand.
“I nursed my uncle,” she tried to make her voice as matter-of-fact as she could. “One learns how to do things when one has to.”
“A statement which can be applied to all our lives,” Captain Leverett remarked. “And we go on learning, Persis—remember that. So you think Lost Lady is dark and cruel.”
“Maybe not the land, just the stories about it.” She was thankful that he returned to that. “Yes, Lydia showed me the fan—it is very strange and beautiful. But I do not think I would care to use it myself.” Should she tell him of the second fan—the mock fan which concealed death within it? She wanted to, but somehow she could not find the words before she spoke.
“Perhaps you are right in that. The islanders will have it that the Lost Lady is jealous of her prize possession and would not take kindly to its falling into other hands. They say she walks—but she only shows herself to those who are in danger or an islander who has angered her. So beware of our ghost, Persis!” And now he was smiling again, the mocking note back in his voice.
“Sir—” She wanted to say that such superstitions were beneath any rational mind to entertain, but knowing what lay in her chest of drawers she could not. “Sir,” she began again, “I shall certainly remember your warning.”
“Captain,” Mrs. Pryor opened the door to look in upon them. “Nate Hawkins is here—”
Persis used the chance to escape. Escape what? She could not have said. But she did not want to think of the fan—of the Lost Lady. Nor, if she told the truth, of Crewe Leverett. Better go back to Molly and a comfortable relationship she knew so well.
12
She found the maid drowsy and inclined to sleep, saying that Mrs. Pryor had sent her a soothing draft.
“Miss Lydia brought it herself,” Molly mumbled. “Most obliging she was about it.”
Then her eyes closed as if she could not keep them open a second longer. And within a moment or two she was snoring a little. But Persis continued to sit on the single chair. Though her eyes were fixed on Molly’s sweating and mottled face, her thoughts were busy in another direction.
If her letter was dispatched as soon as possible-even then it could be weeks before an answer reached her. And they certainly could not stay on here. Would any lawyer in Key West respond to her plea? And if so—how long would it take for him to discover the truth? She looked down at her hands lying idly in her lap.
The purse which had been in Uncle Augustin’s possession was now hers but the sum it held seemed small to her. To provide for the three of them in Key West— and perhaps pay for passage north again—would those funds suffice? Now for the first time Persis was disturbed that she knew so little about her uncle’s affairs.
Slowly she got up and went to the small, single window. This room, like the Captain’s chamber, overlooked the moat and the canal. Men were busy on the wharf—the Nonpareil had been brought in and there seemed to be a great deal of activity going forward here. Beyond lay the wreckage of the Arrow, driven ashore, its bow towering up so that the battered figurehead of the Indian warrior with his bowstrung arrow set to the cord now silently pointed up into the sky.
Farther out she could see the mail packet already lifting anchor, preparing to depart. In spite of her need to be about her own affairs, she was glad she was not aboard. It looked smaller and even more squalid than the Arrow had been.